


Sabnock

by Lady_Michiru



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP, Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Blood Magic, Demon Hunters, Enemies to Lovers, I'm going to hell but you can still save your soul, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Spells & Enchantments, Unresolved Sexual Tension, sex in a chapel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-10 20:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15957377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Michiru/pseuds/Lady_Michiru
Summary: Nakajima Yuto, heir to the leadership of Kiritani Clan, and once the Ace of the Tokyo Demon Hunter Clans, has to join forces with current leader of the Amakusa Clan, Yamada Ryosuke, to defeat a powerful demonic entity which was foretold to rise by the Amakusa Clan Seeress and the Prophecy Research Council of the Kiritani Clan, the Stormbringers. Will they be able get over their dogmatic differences and the fierce, forbidden, attraction they feel for each other? Or will this be their last mission?





	Sabnock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [semikusa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/semikusa/gifts).



> Dear Recipient-san, I hope I managed to include at least something you like in this story. I feel like I didn't get anything of your list, but at least there's magic? Thanks to my beta for putting up with me, I don't deserve you but you're stuck with me anyway, muahahahaha.

“We’re in hallowed ground, Yama-chan.” It’s a warning, and Nakajima delivers it and the name so dispassionately it sounds arrogant, but nothing's new about that. His voice cuts through the perfect silence, bouncing on the stone walls of the church, just like the last rays of sunshine are doing, colored by the stained glass. 

Up in the altar, a candle flickers. 

Nakajima remains still, relaxed even with a sharp dagger poised at his throat. The heat radiating from Yamada’s body permeates through his clothes, caressing Nakajima’s back, and that’s the only sign of Yamada’s presence. Nakajima has to grant him that — he’s good at stealth. 

Yamada chuckles, and Nakajima swallows, the subtle movement enough for the blade to graze his skin. It leaves a paper-cut-deep slit on Nakajima’s throat and makes a drop of blood fall when the dagger goes away. Demon bait. Great. 

“Old habits.” Yamada’s voice is unapologetic.

As he turns around to face Yamada, Nakajima collects the smidge of spilled blood into the pad of his finger and assesses it critically. Hunters heal quickly, but the metallic tang of blood remains. Sometimes even a scratch can draw unwanted attention. 

“Won’t be funny when enemies smell this and attack us before we’re ready,” Nakajima grumbles. 

“You said it yourself, Nakajima.” Yamada’s smile is nothing short of shit-eating as he steps into Nakajima’s personal space to take his hand and slowly, carefully lift it to his mouth to lick away the blood. “We’re in hallowed ground.” 

Nakajima swallows hard, willing his body under control. Night will fall soon, they need to focus. They have a demon to hunt. 

“Play nice,” Nakajima says, with fake coolness and a smug grin of his own. “We have to work this one together.” 

“If you’re done stating the obvious, we can begin,” Yamada jabs, but Nakajima tries not to let it get to him. 

There’s a lot at stake with an entity as powerful as the one they have to deal with, a lot of things that could go wrong, even with both of their clans working together. Plus, they’re grown-ups. 

“Did your Seeress get something about the possible rising site?” 

Yamada nods and reaches out for his bag with a serious expression. They sit on the floor while Yamada unfolds a map of Tokyo between them. 

“She narrowed it down to three areas,” Yamada informs, pointing at the three circles drawn in the map with a bright red marker. “It was the best she could do.” 

It’s Nakajima’s turn to nod. Three’s a low number for such a big enemy. According to Kiritani Clan's intel, usually Yamada’s clan gets five possibilities with lesser entities, easier to pin down. 

Nakajima tries not to think too much about Mirai, Amakusa's Seeress. He knows her; they trained together before they received the Call and swore allegiance to each of their clans. He also knows what the Gift of Vision of the Amakusa Clan demands from those who wield it, the toll in blood it claims.

“Ninomiya-kun isolated two of the more likely areas, too,” Nakajima says, focusing on less dire issues, and opening a map projection app on his phone. He tweaks the image until it matches Yamada’s printed map with clear-cut precision. 

Yamada huffs, rising an eyebrow. “One of the Stormbringers is working the case?” 

“Big stakes, big guns.” 

It’s a testimony to Yamada’s work drive he doesn’t comment on the Stormbringers’ involvement, or the general structure of the Kiritani Clan. Better this way though, there’s enough tension in the air without them getting into actual fights. 

“Well, I think that’s enough of a match,” Nakajima comments, pointing at the stretch of the city where the areas circled in red intersect with the markings on Nakajima’s electronic map. It’s a narrow patch, some five by four blocks, a lot less than what him or anyone from his Clan usually has to patrol.

“Wow.” This time Yamada’s smile is real enough to spread into Nakajima’s face.

***

The shortest way to the site is still over twenty minutes long, and they have to transfer trains once. The ride is uneventful, and at one point Nakajima’s fairly sure Yamada's just fallen asleep; but being the leader of a Hunter Clan has to be exhausting, so Nakajima makes no comments when he wakes up Yamada to get down the train and board their next one.

Though at some point it seemed impossible, Nakajima stopped resenting Yamada for beating him as the best Hunter in Tokyo years ago, his dark adolescent angst blossoming into maturity just in time for Yamada’s ascension as the youngest Clan Leader in known history. He congratulated Yamada at his Investiture, surprised when he didn’t have to force it or lie. 

Nakajima’s appointment as heir to his own Clan’s leadership came not long afterward. Funny, how that doesn’t excite him as much anymore. He’d lusted for it once, his young self craving attention and power; but now he knows what the price is. It turns out that death, when looked upon close, is a compelling deterrent.

A female voice announces their stop through the speakers and warns them against leaving stuff behind. Nakajima dons his backpack, heavy with his crossbow and artifacts, while Yamada checks on his weapons; a katana, tied to his back, and twin daggers, one strapped at his each of his thighs. Nakajima would call him a show-off, but he knows all Amakusa weapons are naturally Glamour-hidden, invisible to normal eyes.

Ready for the battle, they exit the train.

***

“There’s a public square this way,” Nakajima says, his eyes glued to the map on his phone.

They’ve arrived at the border of the designated area, but the night has just fallen, and the entities they hunt tend to be late risers. 

“Not a fairy this time, Yutti.” Yamada isn’t using the obnoxious nickname in mockery anymore. 

“The prophecy mentioned a man in armour, it might be a warrior's bust or something. There are museums around too.” Nakajima pauses, and then it sinks in. “Are you going to keep calling me that through all of this Truce?”

“Nopes.” Yamada doesn't look in Nakajima’s direction, his senses supposedly focused on finding clues about the enemy’s spawn point. “I might keep calling you this way even after the Truce ends.” 

Perhaps it’s revenge for decades of calling him Yama-chan while knowing Yamada hates it. He chuckles this time, though; maybe he’s warming up to the form of address or maybe he's just comfortable enough not to care. 

“Well, I deserve it. I should know better than ally with a mortal enemy.” 

“Hey, I'm all about alliances. But, you know, we have this **B** oon thing…” Yamada somehow marks the upper cases in his speech. 

“What about it?” Just like that, the playful atmosphere evaporates.

The Boon is a tricky subject. It’s the reason the Clans work on their own, and often against one another. Nakajima can’t hide his mild irritation at the topic being brought on at a time like this.

“I just think we're better at this when we join forces.”

“The nature of The Boon lays in the competition between the Clans, though. It wouldn’t work if we were to hunt together all the time.” 

“Then we should ditch the competition and refuse the stupid Boon.” Yamada is visibly trying to keep his tone casual, but they both know this is a sore spot. 

The division by Clan, and the eternal competition for The Boon between them, splits apart friendships and even family ties when people doesn’t get the same Calling. For example, that was the case with Chinen Yuri, called to be a member of the Kiritani Clan at age 13. Chinen used to be close with Yamada when they were kids, almost brothers. Now they stand at opposite sides of a quarrel, and it’s no secret that the Amakusa Leader still resents this.

“The Boon isn’t stupid.” And Nakajima isn’t dense, but his pride won’t let him admit defeat even if some things make him consider Yamada’s point of view. Sometimes. “The gods grant _any_ wish to the leader of the Clan with the highest kill count.” 

“Can't you see why that's wrong? Every hundred years the gods reward us for beating each other instead of focusing on doing our jobs right!” 

“You could even ask for eternal life if your Clan wins.” 

“It’s that what you’d ask for?” Yamada snaps, finally looking at Nakajima.

“I’m not the Leader of my Clan, Yama-chan.” 

“Yet.” Yamada’s jaw gets tight when he’s mad, and it looks so good on him Nakajima can almost believe he antagonizes him all the time just to see it. “We're still two years away from the Granting Day and Hunter life isn’t exactly long. You could be Leader by then.” 

“I will think about it if and when I have to!” 

They’ve stopped walking and they’re staring at each other, animosity crackling like electricity between them. It could end badly; Yamada is deadly with blades, and Nakajima’s crossbow can hurt humans and demons alike. There hasn’t been blood spilled between the Tokyo clans in centuries, but it’s not something unheard of either. 

An alarm ends the staring contest with a loud beep. Nakajima’s phone vibrates twice before he rips his eyes off Yamada and looks at it. 

“There’s a hospital, two blocks south.” Nakajima’s eyes scan the screen avidly, absorbing all the information in display. “The energy flux is off the charts there, the ripples so strong I can register them here easily.” 

“Did our guest arrive early?” 

“Don’t think so.” Nakajima shakes his head. “The waves aren’t solid enough. It’s just gearing up.” 

They look at each other, in anticipation this time. Nakajima's heart beats like a war drum.

“We knew it'd be a big one,” Yamada says, reaching out for the daggers at his thighs. 

Blood Magic always smells acrid to Nakajima, somewhat rough. He looks elsewhere as Yamada makes a clean cut in his palm with one dagger while he holds the other with his teeth. The weapon gives off a faint red glow when he smears his blood on the blade; it's still glowing when he repeats the process with the other dagger. 

The cuts will scab over before they get to the source of demonic disturbance, Nakajima knows it. Still, the mere sight of the Amakusa ritual makes his stomach feel weird.

***

The demon is huge. A humanoid shape in medieval armour, crowned with a lion’s head. A majestic shape, full of chaos and destruction, at least three stories tall. It’s still powering up when they get near it, eerily unmoving as it sucks out the life force of every living being within miles around. Thunderclouds gather above it, blocking the night sky.

“We have to take it down while it’s still confused.” 

“It’s not fully materialized yet,” Nakajima says. His voice sounds awed and resolved, but there’s terror, too. “And it's already consumed half of the hospital's dark energy.” 

Demons, small and big, feed on grief. They feed on pain, too. Nakajima berates himself for not thinking of coming near hospitals or cemeteries earlier. 

“Any advice?” Yamada asks, breaking Nakajima’s self-loath moment. 

Nakajima reaches for his backpack, getting his crossbow and some other of its contents out, and then throwing it out of the way. It wouldn’t do to fight with something weighing him down, slowing his movements. 

“Stay still,” Nakajima says.

He pours holy water on his hand and touches his palm to Yamada’s forehead as he murmurs a Latin incantation for protection. His hand lingers on Yamada's cheek a heartbeat or two after he’s finished, but neither of them comments on it. 

“You have any Amakusa trick up your sleeve?” 

“Give me your hand.” 

Yamada produces a needle from the pocket of his leather pants and pricks Nakajima’s index finger and then his own. He squeezes a single drop of blood from each of their fingers then presses them together for them to mingle. 

_“Can you hear me?”_ Yamada’s voice sounds inside Nakajima’s head. 

_“Telepathy?”_ Nakajima thinks out loud. 

_“No need to yell! It’s temporary, and I can't hear anything you don't explicitly want me to hear. Could come in handy.”_

The demon roars, a cruel rumble that makes the earth shake. Nakajima's heartbeat spikes, and Yamada's eyes become more focused and fierce than Nakajima has ever seen them. Neither of them seems able to move away. 

They have to go; they have to attack. The call of the Hunt is getting so loud it hurts, maybe strong enough to match Yamada's gravity. Nakajima tries to use it to break free, but then he feels Yamada’s hand at the nape of his neck, pulling him down.

He doesn't resist, seizing Yamada’s lips and kissing him with urgency, one arm circling Yamada’s waist to press his body flush to his. Nakajima's insides sizzle with years-old pent up desire, but he has to let go.

“Just don’t die, okay?” Yamada rests his forehead on Nakajima’s, short of breath and looking as affected as Nakajima feels. 

Nakajima chortles at Yamada's condescendence, the weight of his crossbow reassuring in his hand. "Worry about yourself."

Yamada steps back, brings two of his fingers to his temple in a military-like salute and winks. Then he’s out, running toward the ever strengthening source of evil they have to defeat, somehow.

***

It’s not looking good.

They’ve drawn the demon away from the hospital, but diverting from its primary source of power doesn’t seem to have weakened it too much. 

Nakajima traces a circle in the air, fills it with briefly glowing runes of attack, and fires yet another iron bolt. It lands just between the creature’s eyes, giving Yamada an opening to strike again. Yamada takes it, jumps forward with his arms stretched, both of his now flaming daggers burying into the demon’s flesh and ripping it as Yamada uses his weight to slide down while grabbing their handles. 

The demon hollers, its lion mane shining in the darkness of a totally overcast sky. 

_“We have maybe ten seconds until it can move again,”_ Yamada broadcasts through their mental link, still attacking and causing little to no damage to the entity. Nakajima swears he can smell the char of the demon’s slashed skin. _“You’ve got anything else on it?”_

The demon heals faster than Hunters do, drawing on dark energy and extending its circle of destruction beyond anything Nakajima thought possible.

_“It’s definitely a Solomonic Spirit, most likely a Marquis of Hell. Jewish-Christian tradition. The rotten sores of the bodies I encountered at the hospital’s roof make me think it’s—”_

_“Just how do we kill it, Yuto?!”_

_“We can’t. We can seal it away, but we need the right source of holy power to do so, and the nearest suitable temple, barring a wedding chapel, is at least a couple of miles away.”_

There’s a short pause, and Nakajima tries to think of any alternative he’s not seeing yet. He’s as sure as he can be about the name of the demon, but that won’t do on its own. Their weapons are useless if they don’t block the demon’s access to misery, despair or any other negative emotion. As long as it can tap into those, it will keep regenerating from all the damage Yamada and Nakajima can deal, and Tokyo has them galore.

Luckily, Yamada chooses that moment to interrupt his pessimistic thoughts. _“How far is that chapel?”_

 _“You can’t be serious.”_ Nakajima purposely snorts through the bond. _“We don't even know if those places count as holy for real.”_

 _“I’ll take my chances!”_

A surge of power rips through the demon's frame, jump-starting it into movement. It vaults forward to where Yamada has retreated, faster than its size should allow, and smacks him with a powerful swing of its arm. Nakajima can hear the blow, the dull crack of Yamada’s body against the pavement, despite the distance. 

“Yama-chan!” Nakajima doesn’t know if he’s screaming in reality or through their telepathic bond. It could be both. 

_“Still here.”_ Nakajima can feel/hear Yamada panting, tastes blood in his words before Yamada rolls away from a new strike of the giant’s hand, almost too late. He's getting sloppy; they're both getting tired.

Maybe they’re desperate enough for Yamada’s idea. 

His determination flaring, Nakajima draws a small utility knife from his pocket. He doesn’t think about it, just slices open his wrists, careful of not cutting through any tendons or primary arteries. Blood gushes out, filling the air with its metallic smell.

Demon bait. 

The unrelenting attacks of the demon halt right away, and it sniffs around visibly before zeroing in on Nakajima. It turns in his direction with a growl. Good. Nakajima just prays he can outrun it. 

_“What are you doing?”_ Yamada sounds panicked over the bond.

 _“Shut up and keep up with me.”_ Nakajima’s wounds are already healing but the blood loss is making him dizzy. _“We'll try our luck with that wedding chapel.”_

_“And me without my white dress.”_

Nakajima can't help but picture it; Yamada in a fluffy gown and high heels, a veil covering his hair, a bridal bouquet of red roses between his hands. And his katana strapped at his back. He hopes Yamada can't hear his hysterical laughter through their mind link.

***

They're the longest three blocks of Nakajima’s life.

He’s running backwards most of the time, teasing the demon with magic-embedded bolts from his crossbow as they near his goal. Yamada's attacks are in perfect synch, distracting the giant every time it gets too near for Nakajima to take a shot.

At least the chapel is conspicuous enough. A slender two-story building with off-white stucco walls and a golden cross on top. Nakajima wonders briefly if it counts as a sanctified crucifix, but then the demon stops and howls in pain. Holy ground indeed. 

“Yamada!” Nakajima calls out when the demon tries to back away, but there’s no need. Yamada’s already cutting its escape route, flaming daggers ready for a strike. 

The entity hasn’t weakened, but at least now Nakajima has a source for drawing power too. He kneels and clasps his hands together in prayer. 

“Iesus Christus Emanuel, Pater et Domine...” Nakajima can feel it, the scorch of the Light in his veins, healing and guarding as he keeps chanting the spell. 

He has less than five bolts left, so he has to do this in one go. No margin left for errors. Nakajima focuses, breathes in deeply, and sticks one bolt into the ground, a new incantation flowing through his lips. 

He runs, circling the demon and burying two other bolts at what he hopes are regular intervals, while Yamada fights. As soon as Nakajima’s done, a ray of blue light emerges from each bolt, connecting them and creating a perfect equilateral triangle around the entity. 

“It can’t leave the triangle,” Nakajima says. The demon confirms this when it tries to attack them, only to crash against a crackling wall of blue energy. 

“You’re good at this.” Yamada’s being ironic this time. Nakajima can take it with a grain of salt, especially when Yamada’s a mess of demon ichor, dirt, and rapidly healing wounds and bruises. “Now what?” 

“I have its name. The binding triangle wouldn’t work if I was wrong.” Nakajima crouches and begins scribbling glowing runes and glyphs into the dirt. “Now we have to force it to go into its Seal, but we have to weaken it first.” 

“We can hurt it now?” 

“It's a holy bind. It can't heal itself.” 

Yamada breaks into a brazen smile and hands over his daggers to Nakajima, who throws him a puzzled look but accepts them. Then, he draws his katana from the scabbard at his back. 

The acrid smell of Blood Magic teases Nakajima’s nostrils. 

“You’re almost out of bolts, and those don’t run out of ammo,” Yamada says, pointing at the daggers with his head. His tone is still teasing when he adds, “The sharp end goes inside the demon, by the way.” 

Yamada adjusts his grip on the hilt of the katana and holds it in a high stance. All out. He charges into the conjuration triangle with a battle cry. 

Nakajima shakes his head, but he still chuckles as he follows.

***

It still takes effort and a varying range of new injuries to finish the job, but the bound demon, although still powerful, isn’t such a formidable enemy anymore. It crashes down with a noise like thunder, leaving only a pungent mist in its wake when Nakajima casts a spell to seal it away on a brass disc. Back to sleep for a couple thousand years.

Yamada sheathes his katana and collapses against the gates of the chapel, panting and laughing. Nakajima kneels down, exhilaration coursing through his veins like liquid fire. He should feel exhausted, and at some level he does, but there’s still too much adrenaline in his body. He reads the same giddiness in Yamada’s dilated pupils when he looks up. 

Nakajima can’t tell who moves first. One second he’s on his knees and in the next he has Yamada pinned against the ornate iron bars, one of his thighs parting Yamada’s legs and his hands buried in Yamada’s hair as he kisses him. 

The tight leather of Yamada's pants does little to conceal his arousal, and Yamada isn't even trying to. He rolls his hips against Nakajima's, frantically searching for friction that Nakajima is glad to provide.

"We should stop," Nakajima says, his scorching breath teasing the skin of Yamada's neck, wet from open-mouthed kisses and soft bites.

Yamada racks his nails down Nakajima's back. "Yeah. We should."

They break into the chapel’s wedding hall, their hands and mouths stopping exploring each other just enough to pick the locks. Maybe the gossips and legends are true, maybe demonic blood is an aphrodisiac for Amakusa members. Maybe Yamada is just as high on their victory as Nakajima. Whatever the reason, their only interest right now is clawing at each other’s clothes, trying to get them out of the way.

It doesn’t matter that the Truce ended when they fell the demon; it doesn’t matter that they’re technically members of competing Clans again. When Yamada gets Nakajima’s pants open and wraps a strong, calloused hand around Nakajima’s aching flesh, there’s only urgency and need. Nothing else exists. 

_“I want to be inside you.”_ In his dazed state, Nakajima almost fails to realize he's hearing the words directly in his mind, through the bond that's still there.

He doesn't know if it's possible, but Nakajima is sure Yamada's projecting his emotions through the bond too. Yamada's reverence surrounds him, igniting another kind of heat in him. Nakajima nods his consent, without doubts.

Yamada turns him around, taking Nakajima’s unbuttoned shirt off in the same movement. Nakajima bends over, grabbing hold of the back of one of the white benches when Yamada licks his way down Nakajima's spine.

There’s a half-healed cut over Nakajima’s hip, and Yamada traces it when he’s done getting rid of Nakajima’s underwear. 

“This will bleed,” Yamada says. Nakajima can’t tell if the worry in Yamada’s voice is for his well-being or for the threat of demonic bait it poses. 

“Hallowed ground,” Nakajima replies, anyway. It seems to be enough.

There’s nothing they can use as lube, so Yamada makes do with spit and a painstaking thoroughness that has Nakajima on the verge of begging more than once. When Yamada finally enters him, he does it slowly, so careful it could be touching. But Nakajima’s patience is at its end. 

_”Just fucking move!”_

Yamada’s hips comply on their own, setting a brisk pace that has Nakajima biting into his own fist to stop from moaning loudly. 

The position is uncomfortable, with Nakajima completely bent over the white wooden bench, but he’s always been flexible and the angle is so, so good. Yamada's doubled over Nakajima’s back, his breath hot on Nakajima’s skin and his hands teasing Nakajima's nipples or roaming his body, blunt nails leaving quick-fading traces all around.

 _”So good, Yuto. So tight.”_

Yamada’s words leak through the link, carrying along maelstroms of sensations so deep they tear down all barriers between them. Nakajima can feel Yamada’s pleasure with every thrust of his hips, and it shoots back at Yamada mixed with Nakajima's pleasure, only to loop again and again, heightening their senses in an eternal feedback of bliss. It's like a hundred mirrors reflecting and amplifying every reaction a thousandfold, making Nakajima melt with the ecstasy of being penetrated by Yamada and penetrating him at once.

"Ryosuke." A helpless prayer falls from Nakajima's lips, strangely fitting for their location. He's close. So close. He can taste it, a metal tang at the back of his throat. "I..."

“I know.” 

Nakajima feels Yamada's hand around his swollen cock, a strong grip and a twist at the downstroke, just as Nakajima likes it. With Yamada also on the brink of orgasm, it doesn't take much to tip him over and into the fire. He comes hard, over Yamada’s hand and on the seat of the white bench, squeezing his eyes shut and crying out loud, without caring about being heard.

Yamada isn’t far behind. He pulls out of Nakajima barely in time and strokes himself to completion, his release marking Nakajima’s lower back as they both gasp for air.

***

Their mental link fades out quietly. Nakajima notices it like a tingle at the base of his neck while Yamada is busy using his undershirt to clean the mess in Nakajima’s body and his own hand. When they’re done dressing, in silence, Nakajima tries to connect with Yamada's mind again, but he gets no answer. He doesn’t expect to feel as lonely as he does afterward.

“Sun’s about to rise,” Nakajima says, just to break the deafening silence. 

“It’s official, then. The Truce’s over.” 

Nakajima just nods. 

They’re back to reality. Back to keeping information from each other’s Clans, even though it could save lives. Back to the bickering, the competition, the endless, lonely patrols. Back to being Yamada’s rival. Nakajima sighs. 

Trying to think of something else, Nakajima palms his pockets. His phone is there, in one piece, even if the battery’s long dead, and everything seems in place, except for one thing. 

“Looking for something?” Yamada’s wielding Nakajima’s pocket knife, a shit-eating grin in his face as he points it at Nakajima’s throat. 

“You’re just going to kill me now?” It could happen. They’re enemies now. 

“Yeah, well...” Yamada says, resting the blade on Nakajima’s skin and getting so close he can feel his warmth. “I have one small problem.” 

Yamada stops, his eyes unreadable as he folds the knife and hands it to one confused Nakajima. 

“What?” A smile tugs on the corner of Nakajima’s lips, because he can guess which will be the answer. 

“We’re on hallowed ground.” Yamada laughs then, and kisses Nakajima deep and long, as the sun rises.


End file.
